


When in Doubt, Go to the Library

by Aravis39



Series: HP: Roots [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Black Hermione Granger, Desi Harry Potter, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Lily Evans had some serious secrets, McGonagall is Married to a Nice Muggle Lady, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Nonbinary Character, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Petunia is a LITTLE nicer, Queer Gen, Ravenclaw Harry Potter, Ravenclaw Hermione Granger, The Ravenclaw Library is LIT, but still abusive
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-06-09 03:19:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15258267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aravis39/pseuds/Aravis39
Summary: No one really knows why Lily Evans never married James Potter. In fact, most have forgotten that she never did. So the Wizarding World, eagerly awaiting the return of Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, has quite overlooked bookish Ravenclaw Hadrian Evans.Hadrian would much rather spend his time exploring Ravenclaw House's secret library with his best friend Hermione than getting caught up in adventures, but adventures find him anyway.





	1. Prologue: Queen & Country

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lily Evan's sacrifice.

Lily Evans had never felt so ill-prepared in her life. She cursed the day she allowed James to talk her into this plan. Into Dumbledore's plan.

Queen and Country was all well and good. Letting your infant child get dragged into it was sacrilege. If her own parents had believed otherwise, then she wouldn't even be here.

Not that she would be for much longer. Voldemort had already killed James. Her life expectancy numbered in the seconds.

She'd long since prepared to transfer her own blood protections to her sleeping son. Her death, her sacrifice would seal the bindings.

For seven years, no magic would touch him. For seven years more, no magic being could touch him meaning harm. Even seven years after, he would remain hidden from any searching him out.

She stood over the crib. Hadrian was wide awake and wide-eyed. Their matching green eyes met and Lily was grateful he was too young to understand. Mournful that he was too young to remember.

The monster behind her demanded she "stand aside". Lily turned to meet glowing red eyes and the tip of a bone white wand. Stand aside? What true mother had ever done so?

The green light of the Killing Curse was far too beautiful a shade to belong to a spell of such malicious intent. Yet, for an "Unforgiveable", it was a surprisingly humane death. Lily would have thought it to be far more destructive to its victims' souls, but nay.

James had likely already moved onto the afterlife. Waiting for her, most like. Perhaps she would go and see him later. The protections on her little boy had indeed worked --- not that she had doubted them. Quite a bit of her own magical essence had stayed behind to make sure of it.

The "rebounded curse" was quite potent --- enough to blow up that idiot terrorist.

She would've smirked, had she her body. Vengeance for her guardians and for her lover from beyond the grave. Sub-existence as a mere shade was a problematic but fitting punishment for those who flee Death's grasp.

"Lils!" she heard James' voice call from Limbo. Strange that they should so easily find each other. Perhaps it was recompense. After all, their souls would never move on until their murderer's had. And she had just witnessed its inability to do so --- and warded against the means which had lodged itself in her son's forehead.

"Coming, James!" She spared a glance back down at little Hadrian. What she could do for him had already been done. Except...

She summoned all her love and tied it to her son. Hopefully, whatever followed, he would always be able to feel what she would never be there to express.


	2. Dursleyville

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petunia takes care of her nephew, as little as she likes to. After all, the Evans did far too much for her to do any less.

**_Ten Years Later..._ **

Hadrian Evans sat in his cupboard, rocking to and fro. Boredom was an old and ever-present companion here. Aunt Petunia had advised him to keep his head down today. Uncle Vernon's mood trended foul.

As ever, his relationship (and attached feelings) with his aunt epitomized "conflicted". Petunia kept him alive and in one piece. Most of the time.

Other times, she snapped. Snapped and lashed out. Like those frying pans that would sail at his head.

One good swing might well kill him. And that's not considering that there was no dodging the spray of hot oil. Those burns were always nasty. Even without the oil, he would duck and she would snap back.

His aunt's contradictory, guilty behavior had clued him into the fact that his relatives' treatment of him was inappropriate, nevermind Vernon's tirades. Not just unfair, but wrong and mean. Illegal even.

So why did she do it anyway? Why did his relatives keep him, other than the cheap labour? That couldn't be reason enough for Uncle Vernon. Freak nephew or no freak nephew, he'd never do a day of chores so long as he lived.

Labour and... whipping boy. Like in that book at the library.

Aunt Petunia would often drop him off at the library on shopping days and the like. The librarian there didn't mind since he was quiet and behaved well.

Since Dudley wouldn't come in a library if it was chocolate-flavoured, Hadrian felt rather safe there. Of course, he was still banned from the one at school --- Dudley had sent in his minions to frame Hadrian for the destruction of several books.

Which was part of the reason why he never brought a single book back. He avoided bringing home schoolwork if he could help it. It was all stolen or destroyed. Nothing for it. Most of Petunia's sudden explosions happened if Hadrian tried to confront his cousin. Her precious Dudders would never suffer the barest slight because of Hadrian. Although she had got rather upset at her son when she discovered Dudley had been bullying Hadrian into doing his work --- so that Dudley's exam scores were not matching his class work.

By that point, Dudley wouldn't listen to anyone but his own father, and certainly not his mother. Not without copious bribery. Hadrian recalled Petunia's rare efforts to curb her Duddykin's increasingly embarrassing behavior never ended well for her. Either Vernon or Dudley himself would make sure of that. He'd even seen Dudley slap her a few times if he didn't like what she was saying. Nothing to his gut punches, for sure, but still.

Hadrian wondered if Dudley loved Petunia. If Vernon loved Petunia. None of his relatives loved him, that was for sure. He wasn't sure he liked his aunt's brand of love for her husband and son either. Not as something he'd ever want for himself.

So, if his relatives weren't capable of genuine love, had his parents been? Was he?

Who knew about his father, but Hadrian had always felt his unknown mother must've. It was rather a gut feeling, he supposed.

He'd been doing a lot of "supposing" this summer. Aunt Petunia would have him make breakfast, clean the house, then send him to the library or his cupboard. He'd spent so much of his time in here, she'd even given him old papers to doodle on the back of.

Sometimes in the evenings, he was sent out to tend the gardens --- unequivocally the star of the neighbourhood. Vernon complained privately it was "too prettiful", but he'd never reject the admiration of the neighbours.

Aunt Petunia was far more fond of his efforts. She never really said it, but the only time her name suited her --- the only time she seemed happy to him --- was in the garden.

"The Evans family has a rather green thumb," she'd commented once. The only roundabout acknowledgment or praise the young boy had ever received from his relatives. "Good with animals too," she'd continued wistfully.

These words also represented the only thing Petunia had ever said about his family. Their family.

Really, this was Dursleyville 24/7, with the Book of Vernon Dursley its creed and religion. The man only cared about food, beer, and telly. Oh, don't forget his car, Grunnings, and what the neighbours might think. Who knew if Dudley fit in there as more than "Vernon 2.0".

Anything he didn't care for was ignored, unwelcome, unnatural, or some combination thereupon. Hadrian had the dubious honour of being all three.

And so did Hadrian's mysterious parents. For all the Petunia never breathed a word, Vernon mostly certainly had. The walrus-shaped man always had nasty things to say about his mother and his own bastard-begetting. About his father too, but that tended towards more obvious speculation.

He loved alluding that "the wanton slut had more like than not found someone other than that ne'er-do-well to up her duff", accounting for Hadrian bearing the Evans surname.

About the only thing he trusted out of that man's mouth was that they were both dead. Usually, in a car crash. Whether the cause was drink, drugs, or escape from the law changed with Vernon's mood.

It must have been something bad though, because all of three things made his aunt truly angry at him: Retaliation (however imagined) towards Dudley, breaking something of hers, and asking after his parents. Only these three things had led to violence at her hand.

Oh, she loved screaming at him, when she wanted revenge against the universe and it saddling her with him. Mostly, she preferred him out of sight and mind.

Again, why ever did they keep him? "Obligation" and "goodness" didn't exist in Vernon, no matter his frequent escalated claims to the contrary, and he ruled the roost. He could barely maintain the visage of it towards his own wife.

Perhaps he really was here to take the brunt of the walrus's temper. How depressing.

At least he couldn't aim his belt to save his life. Or his fist for that matter. The Dursleys would ruin their image in the neighbourhood if he went around too broken, the rampant racism that had always worked against Hadrian aside. People took one look at his darker complexion and general scruffiness and believed every lie out of his relatives' lying mouths. It had never been a particular comfort his aunt saved her slander against him to cover for Dudley. His cousin's misdeeds accounted for most of the laundry list of sins held against him!

Hadrian was lucky he was being accepted into Stonewall, considering his stolen academic record, thanks to that... Actually, Hadrian didn't know the right word. He'd tried bully, prat, brat, psycho, prick, ignoramus. Boil, perhaps?

What Hadrian didn't know was his aunt had a couple weeks ago received an actual owl bearing a letter addressed to "Harry Potter". Rather than throwing it out with the rubbish or burning it, she'd sent back a rather caustic reply that included a condition that she'd not be picking up any costs; and that they'd better send someone down here to handle explanations and any particulars, as she certainly wouldn't be doing it. Also, they had better arrive suitably attired. In sum, the Dursleys would be having none of it.

(To that effect, she had also requested the representative arrive during Vernon's work hours.) Her husband would approve none of these actions, but Petunia knew that ignoring the wizards wouldn't make them go away.

In anticipation of their arrival, she'd even picked up a bag of thrift clothing for Hadrian. Dudley's castoffs were a bit conspicuous. Anything to prevent nosy wizards from asking too many questions and taking some sort of action against her precious family.

 


	3. The Cat Comes Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva receives a letter from Petunia and meets the youngest Evans.

Minerva McGonagall rather felt she'd sucked a lemon, given the unrelenting bad taste that Petunia Dursley nee Evans' dubious acceptance letter had left. Oddly, the woman, apathetic and hostile though she may seem, had insisted her nephew was legally Hadrian Evans. Lily Evans had put it on her child's birth certificate and it was what he was accustomed to.

The Deputy Headmistress had never understood Lily's refusal to marry James or take his name. Nevertheless, she was sympathetic to the challenges little Harry would be facing as the muggle-raised Boy-Who-Lived. Wizarding society alone was enough of a culture shock. Throw in his controversial legendary-hero-celebrity status, and it was far too much to expect an eleven year old to cope with. Throw in being expected to answer to an entirely new name?

Actually, using his legal name at the Sorting Ceremony would likely give the child time to adjust a bit. He'd be treated as a muggleborn, but no one would assume him already familiar with the magical world. There would be some time to make genuine friends rather than sycophants and hangers-on.

Minerva quietly made arrangements with Filius to have him conduct Ms Granger's introduction while she herself would call in on Privet Drive for Harry's birthday. It was on a weekday this year, therefore within the timeframe that Mrs Dursley had requested.

 

* * *

 

 

Number 4 Privet Drive in Surrey was an exceptionally prototypical Muggle residence. The whole neighborhood had a competitive blandness that might suck the soul as well as any Dementor.

There was a rather lovely garden, if a bit formal for Minerva's own tastes. It hadn't been here ten years ago, to her recollection. Smoothing her rather unseasonable woolen dress suit (done in the McGonagall tartan), she thought over the work she had cut out for her. Explaining magic to someone who came from it yet knew nothing of it would likely be a bit different than her normal introduction. Well, nothing for it. Sometimes playing things by ear was best.

She rang the doorbell device all of three times before receiving an answer. Honestly, if it were not for her own lovely wife providing counterpart, the Dursleys might put her off Muggles altogether. Hmm, perhaps she'd take Harry --- Hadrian --- to an early supper at her own cottage. Cynthia would love to meet the lad, she was sure. They'd both been fond of Lily back in the day.

While she waited, she took the time to admire the garden a bit more. Luscious and vibrant --- tinged with the glimmer of subconscious magical support. Suddenly, she was back at another doorstep, just over twenty years ago. The Evans family, save for Petunia, had had a _je ne sais quoi_ that would have fit in well with the more free-spirited magical families. How Mr  & Mrs Evans had tied themselves down to that dreary little factory town had always been a bit of a mystery.

That family had actually been both familiar with and exceptionally understanding of magic, thanks to Eileen Prince and her son living down the road. As soon as Severus had seen Lily using accidental magic, he'd shared the magical world with her. It was nothing short of a tragedy that the Evanses had proven yet another set of casualties in the last war. Then perhaps she wouldn't be preparing to introduce the very concept of magic and wizardry to their grandson.

The door cracked open, revealing a Petunia who was far too aged for a woman barely in her mid-thirties, even if she was a muggle. Oh, she hid it well, but there was a haggardness to her visage that lotions and powders couldn't erase.

The woman silently waved her into the house, peering out to make sure there were no rubber-necking neighbours observing Number 4's newest visitor.

Her first impression of the interior was sterility and chemicals. Even the faint scent of potpourri had the bitter taint of artificial derivatives. Not a speck of dirt, dust, or damage anywhere. She'd never seen a muggle home with children so scrubbed down and staged. Although she did recall Cynthia's aunt, a lovely old woman who'd had something called OCD, showing inordinate distress at the slightest upset or imperfection in her home. Towards the end of her life, senility had left her mopping and dusting herself to exhaustion. Ultimately, her cause of death had been mixing a substance called bleach with another known as ammonia. A quite lethal mixture. Such household accidents had been all too common before reports of young wives and their small ones succumbing to the noxious mixture became headlines.

Soon, her attention fell to the slight figure hovering near the staircase. Dark, wild hair, burnished skin, faded black t-shirt, coke-bottle glasses Taped at the bridge. Huge verdant eyes. Thin and frail. Worn-out jeans. White sneakers turned brown with age and wear. The nervous expression of a hare about to bolt. Minerva McGonagall absorbed her scattered impressions of the child before her. An ill-kept child in the midst of an obsessively-maintained household. A frown creased her brow.

"Mr Evans?" she made sure to use the correct address, even in the midst of her worst fears. The registry was already adjusted. Yet, with James' hair, glasses, and skin, the mire of nostalgia was creeping in.

"Yes, ma'am?" those large eyes trained on her, curiousity mixed with ingrained caution.

Minerva reflexively smoothed her suit yet again, feeling a bit lost even in face of her resolve to lets things come as may. "I am Minerva McGonagall. Has your aunt mentioned that your parents arranged for your enrollment into their own school?"

A quick shake of the head, "N-no." Hands twisted in the faded cloth of his shirt. "No, ma'am."

"Well, Mrs Dursley, do you still have his acceptance letter?"

Petunia's eyes narrowed a bit. Then she took out a key and opened a desk drawer by the umbrella rack. The sheepskin parchment looked as out of place as Hadrian and herself did here. "It would be best if you got leaving. Bring him back either before five-thirty or after nine tomorrow. Vernon is set on either Stonewall or St Rufus. He won't stand for... all this." Here, the woman shoved a paper shopping sack into her nephew's arms. "You can read the letter out in the car. Remember to behave yourself. I won't stand for you giving anyone trouble, hear?"

Har-- Hadrian seemed to be in a bit of a daze, "Yes, Aunt Petunia."

 


	4. New World, New Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hadrian is introduced to Magical Society. Featuring tales of yesteryear, Ms Cynthia, and a kitten.

Minerva led him out, quietly handing him the folded parchment, forcing herself to ignore the exact address transcribed upon it for the moment.

"Who's Harry Potter?" Obviously, the boy did not know his own father's name. Must. Not. Curse. Muggles. "I mean, it's got my whole address, even my---" he cut himself off. "I don't understand."

She gently guided him into the rather back of the cab. It was a private company, run by a squib and muggleborn couple who had mostly left the magical community. The school kept them on retainer for the purpose of discreetly introducing muggleborns and their families into the Wizarding World.

"Well, Mr Evans, that's because your father enrolled you under his last name. Although why he put down your nickname is quite beyond me. I imagine he was a bit sore your mother picked Hadrian over Harold. I've adjusted our records, but regardless of your legal name, you are indeed a claimed member of the House of Potter. James made sure you were eligible for the lordship, even if he never got around to claiming it himself."

"My father had a lordship? You knew my parents?"

Minerva smiled down at him. He seemed a bit more relaxed now that they were both seated and driving along. "Yes. You can ask whatever you like. We're driving into London so we'll have time to go over some things. Go ahead and read the rest of the letter."

"Wha---? Is this real?"

"I should hope so. I've been teaching magic for over forty years now." Now was an excellent time for a demonstration. She transfigured his brown paper sack into a rather attractive leather satchel.

"Wow," he ran his hands over the transformed material, investigating it for deception or flaw. "Can I learn how to that?"

"Certainly. I'm sure you've had odd things happen around you before. Things you couldn't rightly explain?"

Hadrian nodded, "Yeah... A few times." He looked back down at the letter. "I don't have any of this stuff. Or money!"

"That's what we're going to Diagon Alley for. It's the Wizarding shopping district. As for money, I have your Gringotts trust vault information. If we both sign our names, the shops can redeem it at the bank." The vault key was currently with Albus, but it'd been years since Minerva had bothered lugging around solid gold coins. "Your parents set aside quite a bit of money for your schooling. The estate isn't what it used to be, after the war, but you're independently wealthy."

"Uncle Vernon always said my father was on the dole."

"I highly doubt Vernon Dursley can be relied upon to accurately interpret any aspect of anything." She pursed her lips, "James was an Auror, which is rather like a policeman, by profession. He was in Gryffindor, which I am the head of, at school. As was your mother. James was a noted prankster and a prodigy at Transfiguration, which I teach. It's also what I did to your bag just now. His parents were an older couple who'd thought they couldn't have a child. They came from old money that they increased with a few successful business ventures. Third generation British. Ancestors married into the last of the Peverell family, I believe, giving them old English family connections and their lordship. I believe they were of noble stock in India as well."

"India, really?"

"Yes. Your father was the first Potter since the Peverell alliance to pair off outside the magical desi. That is, someone who was not of Indian descent. More people objected to your mother's non-magical heritage. Muggle, it's called. First generation witches and wizards are called muggleborn."

"So they didn't mind she was a different race?"

"Not as such. Magical heritage and humanity are far more important to wizards than race. You won't be looked down upon for that. Although, intermarriage isn't common either. It's more to do with cultural differences than prejudice. Also, they like their children to look like them.

"But for muggleborns, and for those with less than six immediate magical ancestors, or halfbloods, the prejudice runs quite deep. I presume you were told nothing of your parents' deaths?"

"Uncle Vernon said it was a car crash."

"Categorically untrue. Your parents were fighting in a rather nasty war that also claimed both sets of your grandparents. There was a Dark Lord that united those advocating pureblood supremacy and wish death and destruction on all dissenters, muggleborn, and muggles alike. Despite their goals of ostensibly conquering Britain to establish Wizarding Primacy, these terrorists --- Death Eaters they were called --- have done more to contribute to the decline of Magical Britain than muggles ever could have. Old families wiped out or reduced to scant survivors. Mass emigration to the States and Australia. Loss of magical villages via plundering and destruction. The situation was quite desperate. Their leader had a taboo on his assumed name so that even today people won't speak it, for fear of those who disappeared upon its utterance. Finally, on All Hallow's Eve, ten years ago, this man --- the most feared wizard in all of Europe --- came to the safehouse you and your parents were staying at in Godric's Hollow. He used an unstoppable attack known as the Killing Curse to murder the both of them. He attempted to use it on you as well. Instead, you were left with that scar; and his body and a large part of your nursery were destroyed. The war ended quickly after that, and the papers and Ministry made you out to be a hero, a saviour. Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, with a lightning bolt curse scar on his forehead.

"The Death Eaters were either arrested or bribed their way to freedom. Things stabilized. The Dark Lord is still known as You-Know-Who or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. And book publishers have put out all sorts of stories about your adventures as the Boy-Who-Lived, defeating monsters and Dark Wizards alike while yet in your nappies."

"So it's not really me, is it? I mean, I'm Hadrian Evans. I don't know if I could have ever done anything to defeat a Dark Lord. What is his name?"

"Vol-Voldemort. You'll only upset people by saying it, mind you. As for your defeat of that awful man, I rather suspect that your mother Lily used a sacrificial ritual --- she was always immersed in ritual magic in those last few years --- of her own invention. The Headmaster of Hogwarts, Professor Dumbledore, would tell you it's the power of love. It's known that negative emotions fuel the Darkest magics, and positive emotions have been the basis for at least one powerful protection spell. However, our society would ne'er give credit to a muggleborn witch as their saviour when there's her infant halfblood son to award it instead. And your survival is remarkable, regardless. The first ever to survive the Killing Curse."

Minerva went on to explain Hogwarts, its Houses, a bit more about his birthright, and his parents. Hadrian was naturally a curious young man with a professed love of stories. Nor did he seem to be having too much trouble with his own status as a wizard. "I knew I wasn't normal. I mean, at first, I thought I was just a magnet for weird things. But with the plants and the animals, I knew something was up. I'd read enough stories. I've always imagined that my parents weren't like what my uncle and Marge would say. That Mum was a princess in hiding. That she dispatched her relentless pursuers prior to her and Dad succumbing to their wounds," he recalled wistfully. "A witch and wizard. Don't know if that's more or less surreal."

He grimaced, "But I never... I really don't want to be anyone important. I don't want to be famous for what's either an accident or something Mum really did. Not like I'm the one responsible, anyway. I don't like attention. Always feels like I'm naked and shut up in a wild dingo pen."

"Introduce yourself as Hadrian Evans, cover your scar, maybe some new glasses, and you'll be able to deflect most of the attention. There won't be too many people at Hogwarts who remember what your father looked like. I'll ask those who do to be discreet. It's unlikely anyone who doesn't see your scar will connect you to Harry Potter." Minerva conjured a pageboy cap, "Here, try this on. It's not a popular fashion, but it will fit in better than a ballcap. I also brought over-robes for us to wear going into the Alley. That should take off most of the attention." She transfigured his glasses into a much more discreet, sleek pair, adding a few charms to make them more convenient as well. Hadrian was very impressed with her look. The self-adjusting lenses were especially well-received. He did seem to be less prone to squinting, erasing the perpetual pseudo-scowl from his young face.

"Now, we're almost there. Once we're done shopping, I thought we might head over to my own home. I have some books about Wizarding society and politics a young heir like you will find useful. My wife would love to have you spend the night. She doesn't get to meet many of my students. I live at Hogwarts for most of the year myself. We don't get many visitors there --- part of the security --- and it's warded against muggles quite thoroughly."

"So your wife is a Muggle? And people aren't mad about either?"

"I've been rather discreet about her existence. Especially as a professor. Even if it's technically allowed, Death Eaters are always targeting the muggle relations. That's what happened to your mother's parents. They were fine people, I always thought. Some of the best I've ever met. I imagine that the Headmaster believed Petunia would have been a bit more willing to take you in, if only in gratitude."

"Gratitude?"

"Petunia and your mother were both their adopted children. Lily was adopted quite young from good friends of theirs, I believe, but Petunia was already eight when she came to them. She'd been in Care before. She was quite disappointed that she wasn't magical herself, although I think she did like all the time she spent with their parents as a result, with Lily being at Hogwarts for most of the year.

"Their falling out came first from some... negative interactions with James and finally with the death of their parents. Lily's involvement in war only raised their status as targets, unfortunately, though they were in danger regardless. You may have read in school about the string of terrorist attacks before you were born?"

Hadrian nodded, "It reads mostly like a bunch of spree killers and sadists just did whatever they liked and then disappeared."

"A faithful interpretation if there's any. They'll make it about politics and Old Families and blood, but it's really just sadistic hedonists whom you were either with --- as a slave to their master --- or against, as a target to be tortured and purged. Their tyranny was first organized from Slytherin members enchanted by the self-professed heir of Salazar Slytherin, the House's founder. To this day, Slytherins are rather disenfranchised with the rest of the school. Those Death Eaters who escaped imprisonment would consider the house of their master the only acceptable place for their children. The rivalry with my own Gryffindors --- whose alum includes Albus Dumbledore, who led the opposition in the war --- has only escalated."

"I don't really want to get involved with politics," Hadrian murmured. "At all. Are the other two houses any good?"

"Ravenclaw is for the curious, those who seek knowledge and understanding. They have a reputation as bookworms. The Charms Professor Filius Flitwick is its Head. An accomplished duellist and an excellent colleague. Hufflepuff values loyalty and dedication. They often aren't taken very seriously by the other houses, but I believe they prefer this. Pomona Sprout, the Herbology Professor, is its head. I've worked with her for years. She's fiercely protective of her badgers. A credit to the Founder Helga Hufflepuff, if there ever was one."

Minerva would like to see Hadrian in his parents' house under her supervision, but he held no personal ties to it. If he wanted to avoid political embroilment, then another House and a Head not so strongly connected to Dumbledore would be better for him.

"Of course, it's all up to the Sorting Ceremony, what House you'll ultimately be in. I think you could do well in any, though Slytherin might be a bit dangerous for either the Boy-Who-Lived or presumed muggleborn Hadrian Evans."

"I understand. Thank you, Professor."

"It's my pleasure, Mr Evans. Now, look, we're at Charing Cross. The Leaky Cauldron is just ahead."

* * *

 

Hadrian Evans felt that he had been keeping up well with the sudden, drastic changes to both his life and sense of self. In fact, he rather enjoyed exploring Diagon Alley, although he wasn't particularly fond of robes. Too thick and cumbersome for his tastes. The best part of wearing cast-offs had always been the thin, breezy fit. Even with "cooling charms" the "over robe" Professor McGonagall gave him was stifling.

The Alley itself epitomized whimsy and that lost Old World charm found in the best fantasy novels. The people were interesting too. Witches and wizards had an eclectic sense of fashion even when donning their own fashions. Those attempting "Muggle" fashions made Hadrian suspect that the British muggle government were likely the ones hold that Statute of Secrecy together. Although, if they were allowed to know about Magic, then Hadrian wasn't sure who the wizards were really hiding from...? It's the Muggle government that had all the power to be a threat.

Hadrian resolved to do a bit a research into the history of the Statute at Hogwarts. Professor McGonagall said it had the best student library of any magical school in the world, in terms of antiquity and size. Apparently this Library, with its age and Restricted Section, facilitated the school's international reputation. The old witch had looked like she had more to say on the subject, though she'd simply pursed her lips instead. As Deputy Headmistress for so many years, Hadrian imagined that she likely had a long list of complaints regarding her job that she knew better to voice without the encouragement of some heavy liquor. Uncle Vernon's position in Grunnings was such that the company was of immutable reverence for him while sober and a hive of villainy good only for employee defraudment by characters such as himself while smashed.

The Professor, once they were done at that wand shop --- that had been a strange encounter that left her looking even more pinched than usual. He didn't like how the man had so easily identified him as "Mr Potter". Or about his wand being brother to the one used to murder his parents. Or the assumption that he was supposed to be "great" somehow.

Anyway, now they were standing outside the Pet Emporium. Hadrian was rather excited to go in. He'd always liked animals. They were easy to talk to, other than Marge's dogs, who liked to pretend he was a fox.

There was an especially friendly snowy owl.

"Owls are very useful for carrying letters, though you may use the school owls if you have the need to send any mail," the Professor told him. "Toads are for students interested in Potions --- their skin is used to test the success of the mixture safely. Cats are excellent general companions, though a bit favored by witches. Those of kneazle heritage are as intelligent as humans and even more perceptive."

Hadrian nodded, "I'm not sure if my relatives would let me keep a pet. Or where it would go."

"In that case, we'll leave them at my home. In fact, you're welcome to store your supplies there. We'll make sure you get them on September first."

Finally, Hadrian's attention fixed on a little brown calico kitten likely around six months or so. "Hello," he murmured, unaware this greeting vocalized as a rather distinctive meww to human ears.

"Magic naked-thing!" the kitten greeted. "Pet me! Pet me!"

"Okay," Hadrian agreed, brushing rather wild fur.

"Well, it would seem we've found your birthday present," the Professor mused.

"Pardon?"

"Happy Birthday, Hadrian," she summoned a clerk, ordering a work-up of cat-care items.

Hadrian looked back down at the cat purring in his arms and then up to the professor in awe. "Th-thank you!" His first real present.

The old witch smiled, "Think nothing of it."

Hadrian carried the kitten in his arms all the way back to the Leaky Cauldron. His purchases were shrunk and placed small bag that fit easily into his transfigured satchel. Well, other than his wand. That went into a holster the Professor had purchased when he tried to slip it into his back pocket.

"Now, we're going to take something called the Floo Network to my house. It's a bit difficult for first timers, and unpleasant besides. However, it's more discreet than brooms and safer than Apparition. And making your own portkeys is illegal. However, you can only use it from connected fireplaces. An upshot is that it can be used to place "firecalls" for instantaneous communication. The downshot is you have to be very careful in pronouncing where you want to go. Now, if you keep a few knuts and sickles on you, you can always summon the Knight Bus by sticking out your wand like so. It's just as nauseating as the Floo in my opinion, but it lasts longer."

From there, she instructed him on the particulars of getting to her cottage, and the password he needed to provide to get around the "wards" protecting it.

The green flames were rather frightening to just leap into, all things considered, but he squeezed his eyes shut and took the jump.

* * *

 

Professor McGonagall's cottage was nestled deep into the Highlands. Even with a touch of Floo sickness, Hadrian's body fairly sang with delight at the immersion in the Wilds.

The cottage itself was constructed of stone long ago when the McGonagalls were weaving their family tartan for the first time. Magic and quality workmanship had held the bones together well. The roof had been replaced more than umpteen times, and that was with the aid of preservation spells. Such, though, was the nature of time.

The interior was exceptionally cozy. It was lit by oil lamps for the most part, though Ms Cynthia did keep a generator in the basement for her muggle technology to run on. They'd also hooked up a propane tank to their stove, rather than bothering with finicky old-fashioned things that most wizarding homes preferred. Ms Cynthia did have a fond spot for the self-enchanted washboard set up. Old-fashioned laundry with none of the bother!

Hadrian was tucked into an armchair near the fire with a cup of tea. The drastic temperature drop from Southern England had left him a bit chilly. The Darjeeling was delicious --- not something he'd often had occasion to drink himself, save when he'd been doing winter yardwork. Aunt Petunia would give him a thermos then, to compensate for his poor winter gear.

Ms Cynthia herself was a kind-looking old lady who kept her white hair coloured blonde. Her hazel eyes still had a sense of adventure in them, a holdover from her globe-trotting days working for various outreaches and charities. It'd been an ideal occupation for someone who's spouse lived away for most of the year.

Hadrian was rather curious on that point --- had they gotten married in the Magical World?

"We used a magical bonding ceremony," Ms Cynthia explained as she fetched herself and Professor McGonagall their own cups of coffee. "S'naugh any o' their business, s'long as Minnie is discreet 'bout it. I don'augh mind that she can'augh take me out to Hogsmeade. I've little care f'r magicking human society's a whole."

"Are there other magicking societies? Non-human ones?"

"Aye, lad, that there is. Or has been. They've either submitted ta the wizards or gone Below. In the Ol' Days, tweren'augh like this. Mind me, lad, the Celts remember wha' the rest have been content ta f'rget. No 'mount of mem'ry charming 's likely ta make us f'rget."

He wasn't sure what she was referring to, sensing that it was a long story. Painful too, judging from the professor's uncomfortable fidgeting.

Once the tea was finished, a rather hearty meat pie was served. Hadrian felt a bit ill after --- red meats had never sat well on his stomach, whenever he might have the occasion to sample them.

"S'likely your blood type. Yer mum was the same."

"You knew my mum too, Ms Cynthia?"

"Aye, that I did. She visited w' that Sev'rus lad a few times, a'fore they had their falling out. A shame, that. But that's pol'tics f'r ye. Tisn'augh personal 'til tis. Lad hasn'augh been the same since."

Hadrian was curious about this Severus, but figured it would be rather like gossip to ask after what caused the falling out. Ms Cynthia seemed a bit classier than the biddies on Privet Drive. "May I have some more tea?"

"Of course! You just wait here. Minnie, why don't you help him w' his things? The green room should be fine."

"Where should Gertrude stay?"

"Is that what you decided on then?" Minerva studied the slightly scruffy calico.

"Mm, Mrs Figg down the street has a bunch of cats. She says it's best to name your first girl cat Gertrude, so St Gertrude will like you. I think it's weird, but Trudie likes it."

"Arabella Figg?"

"...I think so? Do you know her?"

"She's a squib. She breeds kneazles and kneazle-crosses. Dumbledore must have her keeping an eye on you."

"Well, she does babysit me for free. But why would the Headmaster be keeping an eye on me?"

Minerva sighed, "The Headmaster has a handful of political positions, both real and self-appointed. He took responsibility for you since the people your parents chose... couldn't. There was a very real threat of Death Eaters getting vengeance for their master upon you. Many of them were in positions that would have left them well-positioned to seize legal custody of you. He claims he didn't want your fame going to your head, but your safety was the only reason I went along with him. Only I fear we should have tried harder to find you a suitable place. I wonder if Mrs Figg ever said anything...?"

"Mrs Figg's a little dotty. She calls me Tiberius more often than not. Plus her eyes are even worse than mine. Cataracts, they're called. Anyway, it wasn't too bad. Aunt Petunia made sure I had food and stuff. And she let me go to the library a lot! Uncle Vernon doesn't like it, but she always tells him it's less stress for her, having me out of her hair and house." He smiled, remembering how touched he felt that his aunt had weirdly sort-of stood up for him, however back-handed it was.

"Hmmph!" Ms Cynthia handed him his cup, retaking her own seat. "Well, I don'augh mind having ye over whenever ye like. Arabella should have a Floo in her home, s'pop in any time. I'll come over myself with yer things on September 1st, I think. We'll hire a cabbie ta King's Cross."

"I don't want to be a bother."

"Nonsense. Ye're barely more'n a wee bairn. I'll see ye offta school. I doubt that uncle of yers would care f'r the task, would he?"

He licked his lips, "No, not really."

"And I would! S'let an ol' biddie do as she likes. Retirement's been rather tiresome s'far."

"Yes, ma'am," Hadrian smiled into his cup, trying and failing to ignore the rather warm feeling spreading in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone could message me corrections for Ms Cynthia's Scottish accent, I would be very grateful!


	5. Kindred Spirits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione Granger is drawn to a young boy on the train to Hogwarts.

Uncle Vernon didn't seem to have noticed Hadrian's absence the next evening. So, win there. The rest of the month Hadrian would do his chores then head over to Mrs Figg's. Arabella Figg, as usual, was only occasionally lucid. The kneazles were smart enough to look out for her though, so he wasn't much worried.

Sometimes he helped her out with her with the tidying up. Others, he would take the awful Floo over to visit Ms Cynthia and Gertrude. Ms Cynthia seemed to appreciate Trudie's company, although she thought her wife might be a bit jealous of the cat.

Ms Cynthia taught him how to use makeup to cover up his scar. "Magical products are easier, but easier ta detect s'well. Bit o' spirit gum, bit o' latex, some foundation... Ta-da! No miracle child here. If yer too worried, then a bit o' pomade will help. Hair like yers will fight if ye try 'n tame it. Mussy 'n wild's best, but ye don'augh want a bird's nest, I imagine."

"No, ma'am."

He came to very much enjoy his afternoons with her. The Deputy Headmistress was gone this time of day, unfortunately. School duties never cease, especially since the Headmaster had little time for the minutae required to house hundreds of adolescent children near ten months out of the year.

Finally, on September 1st, Ms Cynthia arrived with his things and escorted him to King's Cross Station. He especially appreciated her help with the platform. Apparently, she had an amulet that warded against anti-muggle charms and such.

"Thanks for all your... help, you know? I've never had... I never realized how hard doing it all on my own was before. So, yeah. I'll send you owls?"

"That would be much appreciated, Hadrian. Now, go make yourself proud."

There weren't many people around yet, so he found an empty booth towards the back of the train. He was trying not to be too excited, but, well... couldn't be helped. Wasn't often he really felt like a kid, but magic was bringing in all sorts of new experiences and emotions into his life. It was rather scary.

Soon, he met two other First Years like himself: Hermione Granger and Neville Longbottom. As it, happened, Neville's missing toad Trevor (the cause for their intrusion) was hiding in the compartment across, so the two wound up joining him. Hermione was a muggleborn witch with dentists for parents. Her brown hair was rather bushy --- worn natural, like her mum --- and a couple shades lighter than her skin, which was a rather striking combination in its own way. She'd read even more than he had in preparation for Hogwarts. She was also exceptionally impressed with Gertrude. "I'd like a cat, but my parents think I should focus on my classes for now."

Neville was shy and a bit clumsy. He was from an "old pureblood" family that had been Gryffindors for centuries. He'd feel more comfortable in Hufflepuff himself nevertheless.

"I'd prefer Ravenclaw," Hermione said. "Professor Flitwick said their common room library has all sorts of things that didn't make it into the school's. Although, Gryffindor does sound amazing."

"I heard Gryffindor's good for athletes and potential aurors," Hadrian said. "But they have a huge feud with Slytherin I wouldn't want to get involved with."

Neville nodded, "It's gotten worse since Grindelwald's War, I think. That was You-Know-Who's House."

"So what did You-Know-Who call himself in school? Like, a first year couldn't have been a Dark Lord with a tacky French pseudonym, right?"

"None of the books I read will say," Hermione agreed. "They censure most of the names out, anyway. But no one really seems to know anything other than he was Slytherin's descendant."

"Why not call himself Lord Slytherin then?"

"I don't think people would have ever been afraid to say the name of a Hogwarts House."

"I don't know his name," Neville said quietly, "but my Gran says she has her suspicions, calling him a low-life hypocrite."

"Well, I guess it doesn't matter," Hadrian dug an illustrated book of magical plants from his satchel. Hermione asked to look at it with him. Soon, they were in a rather absorbed discussion of literature while Neville nodded off.

Hermione, an only child, was a voracious reader. However, she had a strong preference for nonfiction, fostered by her parents. They maintained that the wonders of the real world were the best to appreciate.

"I didn't believe that really until Professor Flitwick came with my letter. I imagine I'll have an easier time adjusting to real magic, thanks to that. Not too many misconceptions."

"I guess. But wouldn't it be fun to make fictional stuff real? Like figure out a way to remake it? Little imagination never hurt."

"I suppose so. I'm not really artistic," Hermione paused in her thoughts, frowning, "Have we met before?"

"No, not 'less you've been to the library in Surrey. I've never really been anywhere to meet anyone. But I kind of know what you mean." There was a quality about the witch that made her feel nostalgic, like a scent that he knows but can't place.

Hermione shrugged, "Maybe we're kindred spirits then."

"Oi," the door clattered open, admitting a rather pale, priggish looking boy and two goonish backup characters. "I'm looking for Harry Potter," the lead boy announced, a bit of unnoticed snot crusted beneath his nostril. "You two seen him anywhere?"

" 'Fraid not," Hermione drawled, "And I've been all over already."

The blond sneered, seeming to overlook Hadrian entirely. "I won't waste my time with your sort then." He stormed off, his manner wavering between petulant and effeminate. A rather clumsy attempt at a regal air for a boy who seemed to think so well of himself.

More spoiled than looked after, Hadrian surmised. Bit like Dudley.

"You know, I've read all 'bout Harry Potter. He's in all the recent history books. His mother was a muggleborn witch. It's usually written as Lily Potter, but one book mentioned that legally it was Lily Evans. Apparently, she never "formally bonded" with James Potter... Any insights, Mr Evans?"

"S'not the name my mum gave to me. I've never used it. Didn't even know it --- 'til Professor McGonagall took me to Diagon Alley." Hadrian knew he was rather found out. At least Neville was asleep, not that it would bad if the boy knew. Hadrian would just rather make friends without all that nonsense. Hermione shouldn't be too bad. She was new to this world as well. The name and fame of Harry Potter were new to her too.

"I did want to ask you if you had any special abilities. All the "official" accounts only agree that it was you that defeated You-Know-Who. There's a fictional series about your continuing adventures, a large stretch of them taking place with you still in training nappies. Those are a bit too ridiculous. Not that a baby blowing someone up by deflecting an undeflectable curse makes any more sense. But that's the thing about magic. Doesn't bother with sense."

"There's got to be some," Hadrian could see the perceived irrationality of magic annoyed the girl, "or else you wouldn't be able to teach it. Or govern people who use it."

"Professor Flitwick --- he brought my letter --- did say there's more mysteries than not in magic. He thought my curiousity would make me a good Ravenclaw. Though he said I ploughed ahead like a lion. I'm guessing he meant Gryffindor. It is the Headmaster's House..." There seemed to be some internal struggle there.

"Well, Professor McGonagall's the Gryffindor Head. She's nice and smart, but I don't wanna choose a House because it's got this person with this reputation or that. I mean, I kinda wanna see that Ravenclaw library too."

 

* * *

 

 

Hermione Granger had never had friends. Acquaintances, sure, but she had never fit in anywhere. Never belonged. It wasn't something she spoke of with her parents, because she often felt an invisible wall keeping her from them that she could never understand.

She didn't understand people, she realized. No matter how many books she read, no matter how much knowledge she obtained, the barrier would remain.

This was a pessimistic outlook for a pre-adolescent child, she supposed, but developmentally wasn't the foundation of her social skills set by now?

Then, of course, she discovered that she was a witch and that there was a whole society filled with people like her. This revelation had changed things significantly --- she thought.

But assumptions are dangerous. She was perhaps even more of an outsider in a society that thrived on its isolation and genealogical hierarchy.

So, she did what she did best and read. The more she read, the more she could belong to this place. Hopefully.

Still, she didn't feel like she had clicked with the professor or any of the people she had met at Diagon Alley. Not even with Neville Longbottom, nice as the boy was. The wall remained.

Now there was Hadrian Evans. He was muggle-raised as well, an avid reader, and more than easy to talk to. Hopefully, they would wind up in the same House.

Kindred spirits, she had blurted. Yet, it felt right. She'd read Anne of Green Gables for class last year. Anne and Diana's instant connection was not unlike hers and Hadrian's, was it not?

After a while, Neville woke up and suggested they change, before they arrived at the castle. There was no point in delaying, although Hadrian tried to change before she could even step out of the cabin. She left out of propriety, but then wondered if it was really that strange for eleven year olds to change in a mixed setting. The rules of propriety were bizarre.

Why could Neville and Hadrian change in the same room but not her? While intellectually she knew the rule and its reasoning, something about it felt ill-fitted to this situation.

With that, she felt her first bout of homesickness, wishing for her mother to talk to.

Soon enough, she had switched out with the boys and was in her own uniform. She struggled a bit with getting the tie neat on her own but managed in the end.

Before they were all settled again, the train was coming to a stop.

A large man with a lantern was beckoning the First Years to boats while the upper Years went in carriages pulled by shadows that her eyes couldn't quite pierce. Hogwarts: A History hadn't said anything about that.

The boats were creaking and most likely held together by magic. They did provide the Frist Years with a majestic first look at their alma mater.

The castle was a picture from a fantasy, full of childish daydreams and fantasies but with the weight and grandeur of age settled into its stones. The architecture wasn't designed for sense or stability but for abstraction.

She itched to explore every corner of it, to unravel the mysteries, to open the clockface and prod at the gears. So involved was she in her thoughts, she missed half of Professor McGonagall's welcoming speech. That kind of inattention was strange for her, but who could listen to human speech when the magic of the castle was welcoming them as well?

Hadrian shared a look with her that said he felt much the same.

She'd never had a look with someone like that before. It filled her with a warmth she rather liked.

Finally, the doors to the Great Hall opened and she was pointing out the highlights that Hogwarts: A History had mentioned. The dusky sky in the enchanted ceiling was by far the most impressive to her, though the ghosts were intriguing as well.

The Sorting Hat was revealed and the methodology of the Ceremony was fascinating. Hermione suspected that Houses had served a greater purpose when they were formed, but this was a grand old British institution that would close down before tolerating reform, she was sure.

"Granger" was a name called after Evans, so she eagerly awaited Hadrian's placement. In Gryffindor where the heroes and his parents were found? Or Ravenclaw with the scholars and innovators? Or even somewhere else?

Hadrian's green eyes seemed alight as he mentally conversed with the singing Hat, his lips moving as he mumbled to it. Finally, the Hat declared the wizard a "Ravenclaw" to polite applause -- though the teachers who knew who he was were much more enthusiastic, other than the Headmaster. Professor Dumbledore might have had a bit of House pride bias, though Hermione didn't want to be critical of a venerable wizard.

Her own turn came soon enough, and there was a strange rush from feeling another magical mind connect with her own. "Ah, another one," The Hat mused, "Such a bright mind, loyal and tenacious. Young Evans has caught your eye, no doubt, but you can be friends with those of different Houses. You might be well suited for Gryffindor. You have the spine of one, to be sure."

"There's no library in Gryffindor," Hermione said.

"Very true! Books will not give you all the knowledge that you need in life, but there are life lessons in Rowena's library not easily found elsewhere either." Out loud, the Hat declared her a Ravenclaw to another round of polite applause. She slid in at the end of the table next to Hadrian, blushing and thankful for a complexion dark enough to disguise her embarrassment.

"Too bad we can't be roommates," Hadrian lamented. "I don't want to be in a dorm with a gaggle of boys. I've been in my cousin's bedroom. It is not pleasant."

Hermione agreed, "I wouldn't want to room with a boy other than you, to be sure."

Neville, to his own dismay, was soon assigned to Gryffindor to hearty applause and much laughter when he walked away still donning the Hat.

"Poor Neville," Hermione sympathized, "I hate it when people laugh. It makes me want to die."

Hadrian shrugged, "It doesn't matter much to me what people think. It's usually the worst, so letting it bother you is just," he shrugs.

Hermione wanted to disagree but couldn't. She knew how it went. People always assumed whatever was convenient for them to assume. It was yet another reason she preferred books to her peers.

Finally, they tucked into the banquet --- a lot of rich foods that Hermione had never much eaten before and Hadrian seemed similarly overwhelmed.

"Ms Cynthia's food is bit more home-cooked," he explained. "She didn't use so much meat or salt as this."

"I don't like those either," Hermione agreed. "I mean, I like fish a lot. And some birds, but red meat is just... a lot."

"Right? And then people just dump a ton of salt in like they need it to live. Haven't they heard of literally any other seasonings?"

"Not traditional like this," she poked at her shepherd's pie before claiming a chunk of the roasted turkey. She split that with Hadrian. None of the other Ravenclaws are that social, preferring small conversations between two or three people.

Pumpkin juice is a fascinating substance, and there seems to be an infinite amount of it. Neither her nor Hadrian accustomed to sweets, they wind up preferring refills of that to most of the other desserts, though Hadrian does seem to like the treacle tart, even though he's already full.

"Is it just me, or is that guy watching me?" Hadrian's eyes flick over to the end of the teacher's table, where a dour man with dark eyes sits.

Hermione gave a glance towards him, but the man is pointedly interested in his tea.

"Dunno," was all she could say. "Some of the teachers definitely know you though. Have to."

Hadrian scowled a bit but nodded in concession. There's a bit of a stir in the upper Years and at the Gryffindor table that Harry Potter's name had not been called. Most think he's probably got his OWLs from private tutoring or else he's attending school abroad due to threats of vengeance from the remaining Death Eaters.

Hermione couldn't help but feel a bit smug having put together what even the older Ravenclaws have not yet. Perhaps they couldn't even imagine that an eleven year old wizard might not be so eager to be a celebrity.

It's true that being famous had an allure, but being famous for something you couldn't remember and likely hadn't even done? That sounded annoying.

She smirked at Hadrian, "So if Harry Potter does turn up, are you going to get his autograph?"

"Of course," Hadrian replied, trying to sound "eager" but his tone's too dry. "Assuming he can even write of course. Who knows if curse scars from a Killing Curse fry your brains or not?"

That's worth a snort, to be sure. A few of the other Ravenclaws overhear, and the new theory is that Harry Potter was turned into a squib by using up all his magic not dying or something. Or that his mind was destroyed and he'd been sequestered away at St Mungo's. The 'Claws were a creative bunch if it's gossip.


	6. Tower of Riddles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus Snape is surprised by the progeny of the brightest muggleborn he's ever known; There's a new crop of Ravenclaws to orientate.

Severus Snape loathed children. Even as a child, he had no tolerance for brats. He'd only ever possessed one friend his own age.

In the present day, Dumbledore's protection had come with the price of virtual incarceration as the professor for Potions. Anything was, of course, preferable to Azkaban so he endured the slow years.

This year was one he had been dreading for a decade now: The arrival of Harry Potter at Hogwarts. The little Boy Who Lived who he'd pledged his life to in lieu of his mother. The very thought of him made his stomach turn.

There was a part that respected Lily's rejection of him -- after all, he'd been the who pushed her away. But to fall into his nemesis' arms? It had felt like a betrayal. He had only been too happy, once upon a time, to barter for her life in exchange for her lover and child's.

That brought up a point he was frustrated with the Wizarding World at large for --- their insistence that Lillian Evans was Lily Potter despite lacking any documentation to that effect. Not to mention their absurd belief that a muggleborn witch who had specialized in ritual magic had been a passive victim of Lord Voldemort while a halfblood toddler with nary a thought in his head had been his conqueror.

Perhaps he shouldn't hold onto his first love so --- but who else would remember her as anything other than Mrs James Potter? Alice was in no condition to do so. Her son was too young. Minerva and Flitwick had been nothing more than her professors. Petunia wasn't worth a damn. Lupin nothing more than James's hanger-on.

His eyes scanned the little First Years. He found James's dark hair and skin easily enough, though it seemed lighter standing next to a bushy-haired witch with even darker coloring.

Instead of Potter's thick, round frames, there were thin gold-framed specs that caught the candlelight easily. Bright green sparkled behind the lenses, their color apparent even from across a banquet hall.

The phenomenon took him back fifteen, twenty years. Eyes that he had never thought to see again, found in the countenance of another.  
  
He hated those eyes, he realized, just as much as he helplessly loved them.

"Evans, Hadrian," Minerva's voice rang out. The call of Lily's surname surprised him. Had one of Tuney's spawn been born with magic? But, no, they would have her husband's name, whatever that was.

Why he was shocked when Harry Potter made his way to the front? He oughtn't be. A paralysis set into his mind, waiting for the Hat's verdict, unable to form a thought.

"RAVENCLAW!" the Hat called out after an unknown amount of time passed. A dull applause from the Ravenclaw table, Flitwick's a bit more enthusiastic than that. None of the students realized just who this was. Few of the teachers did.

Not enough wizards nor witches could pull their heads out of their asses long enough to realize that their boy hero had just gone to the wrong House.

He almost laughed: Of course Lily hadn't given him James's name. They weren't married, even if the boy had been recognized as the Potter heir. Hadrian had been a name she loved as long as he had known her.

Lily's son shyly scooted into the Ravenclaw table, soon to be joined by the muggleborn witch he had been glued to earlier. Those two seemed to be fast friends. Had they known each other before?

As much as he wanted to move his mind to other things, his eyes wouldn't tear away from the boy much longer than it took to clap for a new Slytherin.

Minerva came up to sit beside him when the Sorting was done, asking Quirrel politely if they could trade places. The nervous wreck of a man readily agreed. He didn't enjoy Severus's company any more than the Potions Master enjoyed his.

"You seem... distracted," the old cat commented. Of course, she already knew why. "He's a good lad. Cynthia has half a mind to adopt him herself."

That was surprising news. "When did...?"

"I'm the one who introduced him to the Wizarding World. His aunt requested his uncle not the be informed about the trip, so he stayed over at my house for the night. Cynthia brought him to King's Cross even."

Severus stabbed at a potato. "I see." Then he paused, "He was left with Petunia?"

Minerva purses her lips, "Dumbledore insisted."

He pinched the bridge of his nose, "That imbecile. Whatever for?"

"He was afraid that the adoration of the wizarding world would corrupt his ego. That and he thought that the blood wards on Hadrian would be supported by someone Lily had accepted as family. I plan to look into what protections really are in place before next summer. I dislike sending him back there."

"Even if Petunia had been Lily's blood, I doubt it would make a difference," Severus said. "The wards are likely non-renewable. The ritual providence of seven by three is neither strengthened nor weakened by contact with living blood relations."

"You know which ritual she used?"

"None of the particulars," he said, "but it was once a shared interest. Lily had located some very old tomes on the subject."

"So, what would seven by three entail?" Minerva had long since cast a discreet _muffliato_ , he realized belatedly.

"Um, the strength of the protection provided by willing sacrifice would weaken thrice in periods of seven years. The first seven likely protected him from all harm. The second, I would imagine should be attuned to harmful magics. Providing a buffer though no longer an immunity. The last seven should prevent locating magics from being used. Of course, these things would be in effect over the previous periods as well."

"Seems like you know more than a few of the particulars."

"I... may have explored the potential for sacrificial blood magics after her demise. There's no real way to resurrect one who is already lost, of course, but I thought---"

"I understand," Minerva nodded. "There's no way to accept these sort of things. Not really."

"Never," he whispered, his gaze trailing back to Hadrian.

"He knows nothing of his parents, nothing of magic, other then what Cynthia and I have been able to tell him. I won't ask you to look after the boy. That's not fair to you. But, I would ask that someday, you tell him the things that Lily would've wished you to. That she can't herself. You're the only one who knew her well enough to do it."

He didn't respond, but he didn't deny her request either. She seemed to take that as acceptance.

 

* * *

 

 

The Ravenclaw Tower was quite a bit out of the way. So many stairs after such a large meal had more than one first feeling a bit green, Hadrian counting himself among them.

Hermione seemed unaffected, however. He was impressed with her fortitude.

The Prefects explained the Door Knocker and the riddle one must answer before admittance.

Hadrian groaned. He wasn't that good at riddles. Maybe when he was nice and awake, but exhausted and ready for bed? Might as well set up camp out here.

"The knocker usually will give you a few test riddles, and once it knows your level, will increase the difficulty from there."

"So it's sentient?" one 'Claw asked.

"It's as intelligent as any animated magical artifact can be. It's based off a sphinx, of course. If it gives you a riddle too difficult, don't be afraid to talk it over with a friend. Two minds are of course better than one!"

He missed the example riddle that the Prefect answered to admit the group, unfortunately. It was a rather soft-spoken knocker, and he was standing towards the back.

The Common Room was filled with gorgeous stained glass windows, only barely visible in the fading light, plush couches, and tight study nooks. The walls reached up quite high, with doors and crosswalks and lofts built in. It looked like there was admittance from the dorms to and from these higher levels. Of course, anywhere that wasn't a window or door was a bookshelf. Even the chairs and couches had little shelves built under them for storing a trove of books that one might be plowing through. Here and there, whimsical lights of all shapes could be found, some animated to move about, some dangling from wherever was convenient.

All in all, the First Years were enchanted.

Up a bit, towards the stairs leading up to the dormitories, stood Professor Flitwick.

He was quite small but so dignified that disrespecting him for it seemed absurd.

"Ah, students. Since most of us have not yet met, as a fellow Ravenclaw, I can tell you now I am most eagerly anticipating our future meeting of minds. I would also like to behoove you all to recall: The true value of knowledge is in how you choose to use it.  
Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure."

A sleepy round of applause.

"Ah, the prefects shall help you all up to your dorms. I wish you all to sleep well, and don't be afraid to ask for directions. In a castle this old, they will change by the day or the hours."

  
Hadrian trudged up the boy's side to find his trunk in front of a four-poster bed with thick curtains and thicker cushions. Trudie's crate sat next to it. The kitten seemed to have wandered off to explore their new home. He shrugged. There would be plenty of time to cuddle his familiar later.

The others were changing into old-fashioned nightgowns and pajamas, but Hadrian hadn't bother buying any of that. He stripped down to his t-shirt and boxers and burrowed under the covers. Tomorrow he would learn his roommates' names.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My update schedule will be a bit shaky. I'm writing this in between scholarship essays and job applications ^_^. I do have some of the next chapter drafted, however, so that shouldn't be too long coming.
> 
> I guess now's as good a time as any to note that while the first few years of Hogwarts will have some parallels to the books, I'm going to be mostly doing my own thing, especially as we get into the fifth year. Also, while I don't intend to do any character bashing, Dumbledore will be shown as negligent and manipulative.
> 
> On that note, I have nothing against Ron but he's got nothing in common with Hadrian or Hermione, so if Hadrian gets closer to the Weasley family it will probably be through the twins or Ginny. 
> 
> Next chapter: Hadrian reads a banned book.


	7. Bookworm Embargo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hadrian meets a wix and reads a banned book. Hermione's dorm mates keep her up all hours.

Hadrian didn't sleep.

The bed was far too soft. He'd been raised sleeping on surfaces only a slight improvement over the hard floor. There were too many covers, it was far too warm, and he was sinking in for miles and miles it seemed.

Therefore, he woke far too early and figured he'd make the most of it. He showered and brushed his teeth, dressed, and headed down to the Commons. Luckily for First Years, they were on the first floor of dorms, so he didn't have to creep past any doors other than his own.

The fire was still merry as ever. Must be magic, he decided. Wizards used magic for everything.

That was neither here nor there. He wanted to know what kind of books were available!

The answer was: Quite a lot.

There were journals and magazines and novels and anthologies and more than one Muggle book of either fiction or nonfiction. There was an "Eagle's Roost" periodical and an "Eagle's Roost Archives". There was also a "Murder, Twas Foretold" annual anthology.

There was more here to digest than he could altogether wrap his head around.

"Up already? Is it that time then?" a voice called from the corner.

"Someone got up earlier than me?" Hadrian gaped.

A tired blond grinned at him, surrounded by an array of extra-large notebooks, pencils, and ink, "Never slept."

"Me neither."

"Lots of students returning stay up their first night back to catch up on all the homework they didn't do, but I swear that wasn't my problem. I did the assignments. I just didn't finish my art for my section in the Roost. Francesca would have murdered me if I didn't have these ready," the student waved the thick sheets of paper they held.

"I've never drawn, but that looks really good to me. I'm sure she'll love it." The illustrations seemed to be black and whites of various woodland animals but more ethereal. There seemed to be a subtle animation charm on them. He was quite impressed.

"She better. I sacrificed my first day of classes for her vision," they huffed. "Oh, I'm Dee. Nice to meet you."

"Hadrian."

They peered down, scrutinizing him, "How you like Hogwarts so far?"

"It's grand. How does the main library compare to this?"

Dee wrinkled their nose, "Ah, it's the best magical scholastic collection in Europe. With a few caveats. Most everything of note is in the Restricted Section and there's pretty narrow acquisitions criteria. I mean, there's no Muggle History and not a lot of memoirs let alone much fiction. No science whatsoever or magazine and news archives. But if you want potions and charms and bestiaries and herbology and whatnot, Hogwarts has it."

Their mouth widened into a smirk, "Our Library has no rules except the dirty stuff has to be jinxed against kiddies. You're welcome to disable the jinxes if you're determined, of course."

"Dirty?" Hadrian blinked.

"Y'know, the cheesy erotica."

"Oh, that," Hadrian wasn't much interested in anything like that.

"Also, it all stays in here. Don't take it out to show your other little friends unless you use a duplication charm."

"Got it!" Hadrian nodded. "Where's a good place to start though? I don't know much about magic and stuff," he shrugged.

"Oh, then you'll want Top Twelve (and so on) Things They Didn't Tell Me as a Muggleborn. It's a compilation of the 'Silt in My Veins' column of Eagle's Roost. Fair warning, definitely don't let that one leave the common room. It's very banned in the United Kingdom."

"But why? It sounds helpful?"

Dee shook their head. "The book itself might give you some idea." They popped an ornate trimming off one of the shelves, pulling out a fabric-bound work from a newly revealed cubby. "Here, just put this back where you found it, hear?"

"Yes, ma'am." Hadrian's mind was already swirling, wondering how much of the trim hid more secret compartments. More banned books.

Dee flicked his nose, "I'm not really a lady, kid. It's more like neither/nor for me."

Hadrian cocked his head, "Is that a magic thing?"

"It's a human thing, but don't expect anyone to believe that."

"It sounds really neat. So what do people call you?"

"When it's not Freak? Nothing worth mentioning. Better to ask what I call myself."

He gulped. That sounded a bit too familiar, "What do you call yourself then?"

"A wix. Queer. I've tried getting people to refer to me as they, but I'm still working on the jinx to make 'em."

"That's cool. Would make my old English teacher would roll over and die," Hadrian said, seriously. "Shock'd just do her right in."

Dee laughed.

He liked the sound of that laugh. It felt fun. "My uncle, on the other, would explode. I'd bring the popcorn to see it," he smirked.

"Sounds grand," Dee ruffled his hair. "I gotta go wash up. You let me know what you think of that book."

"Are there any books about being queer and wix?" The question had escaped his mouth before he had even formed it in his mind. The impulsivity of it a shock.

Dee's default expression must be a fox-like smirk, with their gray eyes dancing, "I'll show you the good ones later, yeah?"

Hadrian grinned and retreated to an armchair near the fire. Twelve Things turned out to be a very good read. He'd be showing Hermione to be sure. There were a lot of social and economic disadvantages to being muggleborn that he was sure Hermione would be keen to know about.

Interestingly, there was a note in the back of the book explaining that this book was one of many in the Ravenclaw Library that had been destroyed elsewhere. All books with this note were to be handled with extra care, as they were part of the Bookworm Embargo --- an anti-censorship movement that attempted to ensure no written works were lost forever.

The name was unexpected. Embargo? Wasn't that were you stopped goods and resources from reaching an enemy?

Or maybe the Embargo is referencing censorship as a denial of resources to bookworms?

Anyway, etymology aside, the note finished with the warning not to mention nor cite Embargo texts outside the Common room, though the Head of House may award extra credit for oral presentations.

Sounded like the magical world took banned books at least as seriously as the muggle one did.

Still, that didn't quite explain why Twelve Things made the chopping block. Except it couldn't be good for muggleborns to know that the system is set against them from the start? Not for the purebloods. There were also some rather harsh criticisms of "pro-muggle and pro-muggleborn" politics that took even the Headmaster himself to task for his live and let live approach with no accountability.

Muggle parents had exactly one home visit and one guided tour of Diagon Alley when their magical child was eleven to learn about and come to terms with the wizarding world. No support prior to Hogwarts Admissions, no resources or information other than their own child once in attendance.

The text recommended putting muggle parents in touch with the parents of half-blood peers. Witches and wizards who only moved in wizarding circles had no comprehension of the muggle world, not even enough to know how to explain their own.

Hadrian was quite overwhelmed by all this. It was all far more to do with Hermione than him. Aunt Petunia knew as much as she cared to, and Ms Cynthia would be a rather good guide herself. He had a feeling if he didn't have a vault and fame to his supposed name, she might have even warned him about more muggleborn issues.

He'd have to think of a way to say thank you to Dee properly though. Wasn't often people when out of their way to help and explain things to you, especially after pulling an all-nighter.

 

* * *

 

Hermione slept well in her bed --- once she actually fell asleep. Her dorm mates were a noisy bunch, unfortunately.

She didn't mind too much, but she really wasn't accustomed to being in social settings like this. So she bumbled her way through self-introductions. Her muggle upbringing had brought her more attention than she knew what to do with. One of the other girls was a halfblood, but had a muggleborn parent rather than a muggle one.

"If two muggleborns have a kind and live in the Wizarding World, would that kid be muggleborn or a halfblood?" Hermione asked after genealogies had been laid out.

"Good question!" Padma hopped on her mattress a bit. "I'd say halfblood. But that's just me. Anyone else?"

"Er, well, being wizardborn means you can't really be muggleborn. So, halfblood. But, blood supremacists wouldn't be using muggleborn, so they'd probably say the slur still applied."

"Why mud, though?" another girl asked. "I mean, I get the idea of inferior or dirty blood, but what's the etymology?"

"Class structures!" Padma piped in. "Traditionally in Europe, magical people belonged to the noble and royal houses, and nonmagical nobility were squibs. Muggles were the common people. The peasants. They disliked peasants born with magic because it allowed for commonfolk to break class boundaries. The Inquisition targeted only muggleborn or muggle-raised magicals, incidentally. The Protestant Reformations and Cromwell are what caused the split between the squib and magical nobility. In India, there's always been magical people at every caste level, but they tend to belong to their own castes separate from anyone else. Well, brahmins, hijras and dalits are all integrated populations."

"Wow, did you read ahead in _History of Magic_?"

"No, my mum's a historian," Padma blushed a little, " _History of Magic_ is focused mostly on magic and interactions with magical races like goblins and centaurs. The Deparment of Education wasn't allowed to release Bathilda Bagshot's unabridged version and Volume Two was deemed to be the purview of elect Ministry officials only. But not all countries have those rules."

"Volume Two?" Hermione wondered, "What officials?"

Padma shrugged, "I'm not sure. Mum keeps her copy at my grandparent's house in Dubai."

"Oh! What's India like?" Another girl asked excitedly. "I don't know hardly anything about it. _Wizarding Cultures of the World_ has been on my Christmas list for two years, but no one's forked over the galleons yet."

Padma pursed her lips, "It's different. Lots of sun, lots of heat, lots of rain. It can get pretty dusty in some places too. There's around a billion people in the country so it gets pretty crazy."

"And what are castes? You mentioned them earlier?"

"It's this really old system. Like, it tells you how to live your life, what your job is, who's more and less important than you, who you can marry. You inherit your parents' caste, and the idea is that while you can't escape it in this lifetime, if you're dutiful, honorful, and so on, good karma, in the next life you may be a higher caste. So that gives the people born into power a leg up, sort of, because they can say, "we must have good karma, that's why we were born into power". So," Padma shrugs, "that's how it works, more or less."

Hermione had previously read about brahmin and dalits, but had never heard of hijras. She made a mental note to ask Padma about it some other time. It was always something she could research this winter break.

"It's 3 am," one of the others said, "We should really go to sleep."

"That time already?" they all groaned.

"I'm too excited to sleep a wink!"

"I'm just going to stay up all night. My mum packed me Pepper Up potions so I'll be fine."

"What? Share!"

"No way!"

"Does anyone know a silencing charm?"

"Not well."

"Well, everyone who still wants to talk, get in one bed and whisper. The rest of us shall go to sleep."

So that's how Hermione Granger found herself peeling her body out of bed barely in time to wash up and head down to breakfast. Ravenclaw Tower's steep spiral stairs case made sure that getting anywhere took some time. Hermione, not wanting to get lost, followed after Penelope Clearwater, a prefect.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's the chapter. If I have time, I might try and write more for November, but I'm full time in college with two campus jobs.
> 
> Notes about Dee: Dee is genderqueer/nonbinary, but these words weren't popularized/coined in the English language when the Philosopher's Stone is set. There was other language available, of course, but I decided on "wix" as the HP universe tends to favor the terms witch and wizard over girl/boy/woman/man. Dee will become a sort of mentor for Hadrian in the Magical World, and I'll probably include other queer wixen in the future.
> 
> Happy LGBTQ History Month!


End file.
